Mass Effect Incursion
by solidshepard2154
Summary: My name is Shawn Baliss, and I've recently been assigned to the SSV Concord. My life has flipped upside-down with an attack on an old Admiral, a new boss, and a conspiracy will change my life. My past haunts me everywhere I go. My future looks bleak.


I always wondered what it was like before we went to Mars and found that Prothean cache in that underground bunker. Just to look up at the sky and stare at the stars and wonder what was all out there. When I look up at the stars at night, I wonder which one I'll be going to next.

Chapter One

My name is Lieutenant Shawn Baliss. I am stationed on the SSV Concord under Captain Amelia Stamkowski and we are currently docked on Elysium to meet with an old Admiral.

I didn't know who we were meeting, but I was asked to join the Captain on the rendezvous, just in case something went wrong. She seemed nervous. I'd never see her sweat, but right then, even with the cool nights breeze, she was sweating buckets. I turned my head nonchalantly in her direction to catch her beautiful face glowing in the moons reflection. Her pale skin looked soft, her golden hair flowed with the wind, her lips supple, her eye lashes waving. She's much too old for me, she's 53 and I'm only 27, but she shines like a woman in her mid-thirties.

We walked slowly up a hill that is perched by three trees and saw a light shining on the leaves. The light grew brighter, and the low hum of a mass effect drive grew louder as we advanced. As we were about to reach the top the lights pointed down several degrees and the low rumble of the mass effect drive died. "Right on time," the Captain said to me nervously, never looking away from the light.

We stopped at the center of the trees waiting for the driver to greet us. Several long moments passed, it felt like hours, before the door opened and our Admiral walked up to us.

"God dammit Amelia, I told you I was retired," he said as he reached us and lit a cigar. "What's so important that you couldn't have just brought it up to Anderson?"

"Sir," she said with a bow, custom to her Chinese upbringing. "There are rumors that the Batarians are going to make a push here in the next couple of weeks. And I have orders to extract you before they get here."

"Well then you can come "extract" me when there is an actual threat," he said, waving his cigar in dismissal.

"But the-"

"But nothing! You drug me out here just to obey a concern by some fool that just so happens to-"

A loud bang echoed off the surrounding hills. The Admiral sprawled forward onto the ground at our feet. "Sniper," I exclaimed. We dropped down into cover behind the car and drug the Admirals body with us.

"Admiral," the Captain panicked, while lightly slapping his face."Admiral wake up. Grissom? Jon!"

He blinked his eyes a couple of times and sat up under his own power. "I'm alright, I have shields."

"Ma'am, we need to move now," I mentioned hastily, as I unfolded my sidearm. I can't get away with giving my superior an order, but it's the only thing that made sense right then.

"You N7 son," Grissom asked, dazed. Sniper rounds were whizzing past us and either hitting the ground or ricocheting off the car.

"Yes, sir," I said, after I ducked my head when a bullet hit the car too close to my head.

"Thank God for my luck," he breathed, just before he fell unconscious.

"We need to get him in the infirmary in the Concord. Can you drive," Amelia asked as she was hoisting the Admiral on her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," I said as I peeked around the corner of the car.

I rounded the corner and opened the door so she could get in and sit Grissom down. Several shots landed at my feet, and I blindly returned fire. I turned on my haunches, climbed in the car, and took off. More rounds ricocheted off the car as we sped away.

Turning to look at the unconscious Admiral in the backseat the Captain scoffed, "Paranoid bastard. Mass effect shields and an armored car."

Turning forward she finally looked right at me, "Thank you Baliss. If you weren't there, we would probably be dead."

"Don't thank me until we get on board the Concord."

There was a brief but uncomfortable silence, so I asked, "Is that really Admiral Jon Grissom?"

"The one and only."

"I heard he's kind of an ass."

She smiled ever so slightly, took a deep breath, wiped her brow and asked, "Who do you think it was?"

"Batarians would be my first guess. They've been piling in by the dozens. But why Grissom? How did they know where we were?"

"Hard telling," she said as though wondering herself. "But there are eyes and ears everywhere on this planet."

There was a long time of just silence, besides the musical vocals of an asari on the radio. I couldn't tell what she was saying, for some reason our translators work with intercoms and the like but not with music. My guess is that the music is supposed to be heard a certain way, but it's unfair for non-asari. Either way it was a beautiful musing, something you could seduce a beautiful woman too. This unsettling, and rather uncomfortable silence lasted until we reached the port.

"Okay, get Grissom into the infirmary and meet me in the Conference Room for debriefing," the Captain ordered.

"Yes ma'am."

The captain called the Concord on her ear piece, letting the crew know of the immediate situation. I pulled around and parked as close to the frigate as I could. I pulled the Admiral out from the backseat and handed him to one of the crew members, my guess he's one of the medics. I wasn't sure what his name was, I'd only been on the Concord for a couple of weeks. That's not enough time to get to know everyone.

Eventually I would get to know everyone. Frigates have small crews averaging around thirty. Nothing like the dreadnought that I was stationed on before I started my N7 training, which can have hundreds of people running around, doing various jobs.

I walked through the airlock and greeted the pilot, James. I'm not sure if that's his first or last name. Usually, in the Alliance, everyone is referred to by their last name. Unless their surname is difficult to pronounce, much like Captain Amelia Stamkowski. Then we just refer to them by their rank or, unless they're a superior, their first name.

I followed the medic down to the infirmary, while trying not to pay attention to the gawkers, and made sure the doctor had everything she needed before I headed up to the Conference Room to meet with the Captain. I walked hastily up the stairs, turned a couple of corners and pressed the button on the door to open it.

When I entered I was surprised to see a Salarian in full body armor sitting in the Captain's chair. Amelia was pacing, nibbling her fingernails.

"Is this the guy," the Salarian asked the Captain.

Amelia turned to look towards the door and thus at me. "Yeah, that's him," she said, removing her pinkie nail from between her teeth.

"What's going on Cap," I asked, not taking my eyes off the alien.

"This is Vaylos," she said, turning to formally introduce us. "He's a Council Spectre."

"And why is he on the Concord?"

"I understand your a strong supporter of the Terra Firma party," the alien stated matter of factually.

"Yes I am. Is that okay with you?" Yes, I hate aliens. They all think they are superior to humans. But wasn't it a human, by the name of Shepard, that stopped the Geth from destroying the Citadel and saved millions of lives, whereas it was an alien, a Turian none-the-less, that lead the attack? Yes, I have xenophobia, and I'm damn proud to admit it.

"You ever hear of Cerberus," the Spectre drug out, as compared to other Salarian speak where everything just runs together.

"Yeah, their a Human extremist group. Their anti-alien, but I don't agree with their actions. What does that have to do with why you're here?"

"Lieutenant, you'll be working with Vaylos on this mission," she aired, apologetically.

It took several seconds for her comment to sink in, but when it did I rubbed my face with both of my hands in frustration and disgust. I nodded my head at the Captain, but gave the bug eye a snarl look of disdain, and exited the room without a single word.

I walked with my fists clenched and tears of frustration welling in my eyes and could feel the heat coming from my face. I wasn't entirely sure where I was going, but when I got there I would know it.

I wondered around the ship aimlessly for a while, through the Combat Information Center, down the stairs to the mess hall, to my quarters, down to the garage, then back up to the second floor to the Observation Room on the port side, all the while I was wondering why Amelia would do this. Just a glance out the window brought my blood pressure down a few points. Thankfully there was a bar on that ship, a small one but I wasn't complaining. I poured myself a stiff drink, Johnnie Walker Black Label Scotch Whiskey that has been in my family for 180 years. I take it everywhere I go. I'd only opened it one other time, about five years ago.

After a few sips the door whisped open, I was mid-gulp so I didn't even bother to look to see who it was. "You know, it's prohibited to drink while on duty." Amelia's joking tone was sweet to hear.

The Captain is a wonderful woman. She's sweet, funny, ridiculously smart, and one hell of a leader. She's a hard-ass when she needs to be, which is very rarely. Her smell is inviting, and her movements are fluid and female, but I know she could kick my ass if she needed too.

I finished the glass and began to pour myself another, so I asked, "You want one?"

"Why the hell not? I need one after what happened tonight."

I grabbed another glass and asked her when. As soon as it was at an adequate level she responded with, "When." I handed her the glass and she downed it too quickly to savor the rich taste of the nearly two century old scotch.

"I really needed that," she grinned. She handed me her glass, waved and shook her head telling me she didn't want another. I wasn't even a quarter done with my second.

"Tell me Shawn, what's eating you," she slurred slightly, showing actual concern.

"I told you when I was first stationed here that I'm xenophobic," I said into my glass. "This is an Alliance frigate. Why is he here?"

"He's a Spectre. There's not a whole lot I can do," she shrugged. "Officially he's here to end this, whatever it is, before it begins. Unofficially he's here to review you, throughout this mission, to see if you're Spectre material."

"Me? A Spectre? Right," I scoffed.

"Hey, humans have a lot more pull now, since Shepard."

"You're serious?"

She nodded drunkenly.

"Shepard's been dead for two years. He's the only reason Humans have any pull whatsoever. What makes you think I could become a Spectre?"

"Apparently the Council liked what they saw of you during the Assault on Caleston."

I looked her directly in the eye and sourly said, "I did what had to be done."

Showing a little more concern she stepped forward and brushed my fairly long brown bangs from my eyes, she asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Everything is in the report," I dodged, talking into my half empty glass again.

"The report is kind of vague," she said, prying deeper. "It's almost like-"

I looked her in the eye again, furrowed my brow, and angrily said, "I was bred to kill, not to care."

"But you do care. That's the difference," she sprang back, not even shaken by my sudden outburst.

Attempting to change the subject I asked, "Any word on Grissom?"

"None yet," she quickly responded. My guess is that she was upset that I didn't trust her enough yet. That wasn't the case. I trusted her with my life. I just hadn't come to terms with what I had done.

"Please Shawn, work with Vaylos. I know you hate aliens, that's fine. Just take this assignment, become a Spectre, take the law into your own hands," she looked at me from under her brow, showing me her "cute" face and finished with, "and if that's not good enough, do it for me."

"Alright, fine," I gave in, almost too easily. "Let's head back up, so I can apologize to that bug eyed man and get me in the front lines again."

"That's the spirit soldier," she saluted.

As we were about to head back up the stairs to the Conference Room, the same medic from before came racing from behind us.

"Ma'am," he panted, then saluted. "Admiral Grissom just woke up."

We followed the medic to the infirmary. The door whisped open and all I could hear was shouting. More specifically, "What the fuck happened?" and "Where the fuck am I?" and "Who the fuck are you people?".

My guess is that the Admiral was confused and a little angry.

Amelia ran to his side, grabbed his hand and said, "Jon calm down. Everything is alright."

"Amelia? What hell is going on?"

"You were shot," she said, lowering her eyes.

The Admiral sat up quickly, with a grimace, and started patting himself to find the wound to no avail.

"Concussive rounds, sir," the doctor said. "I don't think the shooter was trying to kill you, but perhaps send a message." Her accent was nearly impossible to recognize. A little Scottish with a southern twang? I wasn't sure.

"What message," he snarled.

"To get the fuck off of Elysium," Amelia snapped.

Grissom pivoted on his rear-end to crawl out of the uncomfortable med-bed, as I like to call them. Amelia helped him up with a hand under his elbow, handling him with care now, when a few hours ago she threw him on her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"I need to rest in something a little more comfortable," the Admiral winced, finally getting to his feet.

"You can have my quarters, sir," I offered. "Apparently I won't be needing it anymore," I growled, giving a slight look of disgust at my Captain.

He stepped toward me, placed his hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and showing true gratitude he said, "Thank you, son."

"It's only a bed, sir."

"I didn't mean for the bed," he shot back, furrowing his brow. "I meant for," he looked down, then in my eyes, showing true gratitude, "everything."

He began to move towards the door and Amelia chased after him and said, "I want to get you to the Embassy as soon as possible, sir."

The door whooshed open and his response sounded something like, "Macaroni filings." I still don't know what the fuck that was supposed to mean.

I took haste after them. Amelia asked me to show Jon my quarters and to pack my things, then meet her in the Conference Room. There wasn't a single word spoken between the Admiral and I. He plopped down on what was no longer my bed and was out like a light.

I undressed, took a quick shower, and put on my full body armor. That was all I was taking besides my M-15 Vindicator, which I modified myself to hold more rounds and to be fully automatic instead of that three round burst bull-shit, I call her Mindy, and my trusty M-6 Carnifex, I call her Becca.

Yeah, okay. It sounds a little weird naming your guns, but if you've traversed through Hell and lived to talk about it, you have the right to have a slightly more than materialistic relationship with your armor, guns, or even your boots. But I'm not crazy enough to name my boots. Not yet anyway.

I stepped toward the door and turned back as the door opened. Looking at the small room that I had made my home, I hung and shook my head. I was under the impression that I would never see that room again. That assumption was almost correct.

I headed towards the Conference Room, glancing at the faces of the men and women I may never see again. Nodding politely and saluting each one of them. There was this FNG on board, or rather FNC, she was very attractive, my type too. Tall, blonde, small chest, and a magnificent ass. Too bad I am nearly a decade older than her, but I stopped to have a very short conversation with her anyway. Well, let's just say there's a good reason she's the janitor.

I walked into the room to see the Spectre still sitting at the Captain's chair, but he had a plate full of, I couldn't even guess, in front of him. He was shoveling it into his maw, eyes twitching in all directions, gathering all the information he could.

He finished his mouthful of God-knows-what, placed his fork on the edge of the plate, took a long drink of whatever beverage was desired by his taste buds, never taking his eyes off of my general direction, smiled and said, "Glad you changed your mind and decided to abandon your ideals to help me on this rather dangerous assignment. Hope everything will work out well enough between us so I don't get shot in the back when I least expect it. Although expected from someone who is such an outspoken activist against alien, human affairs. By the way, where did you get those weapons? Those are state of the art guns that are-"

"So you are long winded," I interrupted rhetorically.

Clearing his throat and giving Amelia an almost unnoticeable glare in response to her light chuckle, he said, "Yes, I am Salarian, so at times I tend to run every thought in my head out all at once. But don't worry, I've worked with plenty of Humans over the years and I've noticed that you get annoyed more often and easier than we do."

"We like to skip straight to the point," Amelia added.

"Yes, I will join you on this mission. What information do we have so far," I reaffirmed Amelia's comment.

The Salarian opened his omni-tool and began reading what he had on the situation, "As of a week ago, Batarian immigration to Elysium has increased by 250 percent. There have also been an increase in Krogan, Vorcha, and Turian immigration. There have also been several warehouses, outside of the authorities jurisdiction, and many bunkers on Torfan, that have been taken over by merc groups and pirates. We can assume the Batarian Hegemony is behind these attacks."

"Couldn't it be just some Batarian warlord with a huge grudge against Humans," I asked.

"Yes, that is possible. But he would have to be very wealthy and very influential to get this many Batarians on Elysium."

"But not very smart," I added. "He would have to know that all this Batarian traffic into Elysium would draw attention."

"There are also rumors that the Hegemony had lifted the "No Civilian Can Leave" campaign due to resource shortages," Amelia informed us.

"It is confirmed, though, that these Batarians, Krogan, Vorcha, and Turians are hostile. Bar room brawls have increased substantially in the last week, along with Human deaths due to gun shot."

"Are we looking at another Skyllian Blitz?"

"Please, Amelia," I said, turning to her. "It's been nine years since the Skyllian Blitz. And we handed those four-eyed bastards their asses."

"Sorry to disappoint, Shawn," Vaylos began, looking down at his feet momentarily, "but all the events leading up to today suggest nothing else."

"What about Grissom," I asked.

"What about him?"

"He was shot by concussive rounds," my Captain finished for me.

Vaylos sat there for an extremely long time thinking about what we were suggesting. Unusually long for a Salarian. His eyes were twitching between both of our faces, perhaps he thought we were lying. Finally he pushed off the desk, stood up, walked over to us, and said, "This is an unfortunate, oh what's that Human saying, hole in the loop?"

"Yeah, it is a little suspicious, but we need to run with what we have and stop wasting time coming to unconfirmed conclusions," I spat out. "You're the Spectre. Where should we start?"

"Omega," he sounded almost uncertain. "I know a man that should have the information we need to figure out what's going on."


End file.
